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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662868">The Calm After the Storm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robiness/pseuds/Robiness'>Robiness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Berserker Prince [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Semblances (RWBY), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Berserker Clover Ebi, Canon parallels, Crow!Qrow, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Faunus Qrow Branwen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Injury, M/M, Mentions of Tyrian Callows, Protective Clover Ebi, Protective Qrow Branwen, Swearing, some violence at the start</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:40:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,281</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robiness/pseuds/Robiness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Berserker Prince can only be soothed by his beloved crow.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Berserker Prince [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>149</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Calm After the Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonCrayons/gifts">NeonCrayons</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is a gift for <a href="https://bastard-bird-dad.tumblr.com/">bastard-bird-dad</a> on tumblr, who   <a href="https://four-leaf-clover-ebi.tumblr.com/post/190734030333/">asked for Crow Faunus Qrow.</a>. Honestly, same. </p><p>I hope you enjoy this, fellow fairgamer. </p><p>Some warnings that might be relevant:<br/>- Clover, as a berserker (based on the Norse warriors that fought in an uncontrollable fury), does start the fic in a violent, murderous rage that isn't his normal personality. There's nothing I really find graphic, but I adjusted the Archive warning just in case.<br/>- a passing joke about domestic violence, only one line from Qrow<br/>- Tyrian Callows exists, but not for long</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Kill. Make them bleed. Rip them apart.  </em>
</p><p>No blood. Unsatisfying.</p><p>Clover tried to remember what began all this. Who was he attacking? Why? </p><p>He registered a growl. His? No. Grimm.</p><p>
  <em> Pummel. Defeat. Throw aside. Next.  </em>
</p><p>Shouting. Gunshots. Someone shooting him. People, too, then.</p><p>
  <em>Blood. People meant blood.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Rip. Hack. Tear. Next.  </em>
</p><p>As another figure lunged at him with a large blade, Clover vaguely remembered that he, too, was a warrior with a weapon — if you could even call it that. It was meant to <em> restrain</em>, to minimize the pain of their target.</p><p>The rage did not understand why he would need something so ineffective.</p><p>
  <em> How is that enough to fight, to protect…? </em>
</p><p><em> Protect. </em>He had someone to protect. </p><p>His vigor increased dramatically, the red haze intensifying so much that he ceased to see the bodies he was leaving behind, couldn’t hear the groaning of those unlucky enough to survive, couldn’t feel the smoke that used to be the monsters— monsters larger than him but with less conviction.</p><p><em>Keep going on. Fight back. Draw blood.</em> Always moving on to the next, to those who tried their luck with him. Those who wished to die, and will.</p><p>As the rage spread like wildfire both inside him and throughout the battlefield, he remembered a time when it wasn’t there. No, it was always there. But it was... dormant usually, wasn’t it? </p><p>
  <em> The rage sleeps when the boy is in charge. The one who believes that a kind, distant smile and a useless ‘weapon’ are enough to make people forget that he’s a monster.   </em>
</p><p>How much blood was on his hands this time? Maybe it was enough for now? Maybe he should rest?</p><p><em> While there are enemies on the battlefield, it will never be enough. Even when all that is left are piles of corpses and dust, there will be more opponents out there. Opponents that could reach for</em>—  </p><p>A clear vision burst into his mind. A lean figure. Adept movements, strong and wiry arms, quick reflexes. A fellow fighter worthy of respect. </p><p>Black wings stark against sunlight. Flecks of blood on pale skin — the fighter’s? No, the fighter is too formidable — the blood on him matched the blood on Clover. They were the same.</p><p>
  <em> No, he and I are not the same.  </em>
</p><p>But the rage began to ebb, Clover started to feel his bones again, started to remember that he had muscles and flesh that were the weakest sort of armor, started to recall the meaning of pain and weariness.</p><p>
  <em> Keep fighting.  </em>
</p><p>No, I need to return to Qr—</p><p>The rage spat out another memory — a thin slash near the rib. Not enough to bring down the fighter, surely? </p><p><em> Purple eyes, poison, the winged fighter clutches his side, still wielding, still pushing. When the weapon fails, the body continues, arms punching, wings sweeping and deflecting</em>—</p><p><em> But the poison spread, and it became too much</em>—</p><p><em> The fighter falls</em>—</p><p><em> Red, red, red rage comes with a roar, Clover allows it to flow through him as he begins his hunt. The coward, the filthy animal tries to run, but he grabs it by the stinger</em>—</p><p><em> Coward, unworthy of battle, unworthy of the fighter’s blood </em>—</p><p>So that’s how this started, Clover noted, as the rage increased a hundredfold. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Qrow, you have got to be kidding!”</p><p>The Huntsman tried to keep a blank face, but he missed a half-step and ended up cursing. “Clover… needs me.”</p><p>“The prince is on a fucking rampage right now, and you’re badly hurt!”</p><p>Qrow paused his journey out, leaning heavily on Harbinger, his scythe. “He needs… me.”</p><p>“I’ll come with—”</p><p>“No,” he managed, gaze as cutting and forbidding as he could muster in his current state. “He won’t be able to… recognize you. After he’s cleared out the field… he’ll be looking for more to fight. He won’t show mercy.” He continued limping to the castle gates at a quicker albeit more painful speed. </p><p>“Then this is a suicide mission, Qrow!”</p><p>“No, Yang,” he replied, grinning despite the pain as the gates lifted with a metallic groan. “It’s a dance. Trust me.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Once outside, Qrow let out a low whistle at the body count. He was a little late, it seemed. </p><p>In the middle of the wide field, there were about twenty bandits left, trying to attack Clover all at once in an attempt to overwhelm. </p><p>“Not going to work, folks,” he warned under his breath, stopping about a few hundred meters away. He threw Harbinger to the side — it helped keep him standing, but it would also be taken as aggression by the man battling in the moonlight, feral and captivating. </p><p>
  <em> Damn, the wound's still festering.  </em>
</p><p>If he wasn’t injured, he’d probably be right there in the fray, eager to help the warrior prince establish his dominance. After everyone else was down, he’d tease Clover, flying away <em> just </em>a little too fast, just enough for the man to growl in frustration—his prey that deftly maneuvered through his advances, purposely letting out taunts and giggles to incense him. </p><p>Then, Qrow would kiss him, wings that were completely spread closing in around them. The one they called Berserker Prince would get the most adorable furrow between the brows, confused by this method of attack. The Faunus would just keep his arms locked around the other’s neck, until Clover relaxed and returned the kiss. </p><p>Qrow licked his lips at the visuals his mind provided. <em> The sex afterwards isn’t too bad, either. Damn it, Callows.  </em></p><p>He quickly had to pay attention to the present, as Clover had finished off the last of them. </p><p>
  <em> That’s my cue.  </em>
</p><p>He tried to stand as straight as he could without an aid, retracting his wings to make them take up as little space as possible. As non-threatening as possible.</p><p>“Darling!” he sang to the now restless man. The theatrics made him cough out a little blood, ruining the effect. </p><p>Clover zeroed in on him then, and snarled. As expected, his eyes were blazing red. </p><p>
  <em> Qrow once commented that their eyes matched in these moments. Clover disagreed vehemently, saying that Qrow’s had the warmth of a hearth, the gleam of rubies, the softness of roses, beautifully absorbing the light and shining it back out. The indication of Clover’s rage was dark in contrast, nothing but the shadowy blood it sought.  </em>
</p><p>Qrow winced as his prince backhanded him. He was thrown to the side, wings extending to cushion his fall.</p><p>“Alright then,” he rasped out, spitting to the side. Louder, he said. “Come on, babe, don’t make me report domestic violence. Who will take the kids? Poor Marrow might cry, and Nora might actually murder both of us.”</p><p><em> Fuck. </em>He was too slow and Clover managed to kick him very hard in the face. “Fucking <em>shit</em>, Clover, no blowjobs for a month then, you bastard!” </p><p>His lover growled, and violently grabbed his throat, lifting Qrow high up in the air. If Qrow were facing an enemy, this would be ample opportunity to use the last of his energy to fly away, to retreat and accept that he’d have to regroup. </p><p>But this was <em> Clover</em>. Those red eyes looking, but not seeing him, the blood and grime all over that body that exuded nothing but strength. Clover wasn’t merely his rage, but the rage <em>was</em> a part of him. And Qrow loved his prince unconditionally. </p><p>He squirmed, but not in self-preservation. <em> Really, Callows, fuck you so much. </em></p><p>Trying to focus, he ran his hands gently up Clover’s forearm, ignoring how the chokehold tightened a tad.</p><p>“Clover,” he murmured softly, making his body as lax as possible. “Come back to me, princeling.”</p><p>His lover narrowed his eyes. Keeping his tight grip on Qrow’s neck, he brought Qrow close enough that Qrow’s feet could somewhat touch the ground. </p><p><em> Bingo. </em>Qrow immediately wrapped his wings around them both, something he long ago understood significantly helped Clover regain himself. His wings tickled the tips of their hair as he reached for his lover’s face with a grin.</p><p>“I really need medical attention right now, babe,” he quipped. He bypassed the massive hulk that was Clover’s arm and pressed a gentle kiss on a bloodstained cheek, then another on a hard jaw. “Take me home, please?”</p><p>As the two men exchanged heavy breaths, Clover’s death grip loosened, head leaning against the wing stroking his face. “There now, ease out of it.”</p><p>Slow and steady, Clover began to relax, the tension bleeding out of his bones as the red faded from his eyes.</p><p>Soon enough, teal green eyes blinked at him, immediately widening in concern as he registered the state Qrow was in. </p><p><em> Nice. Still got it, Branwen. </em>Only then did the winged Huntsman allow his body to give out and collapse in exhaustion.</p><p>“Qrow? Qrow, oh shit, your wound—”</p><p>Qrow pressed a smile against Clover’s neck as the same arms that decimated half an army scooped him up with the utmost care. “There you are, princeling.”</p><p>One would think that bridal style would be difficult when the ‘bride’ had massive wings almost twice his size, and one would be correct. However, Clover had years to figure out how to work around it, leaning Qrow’s head on his shoulder, one arm holding up thighs, and a hand steady on the groove below the source of the wings. </p><p>Qrow knew the drill, wrapping his arms around Clover’s neck to cooperate, though he tried to hide the shivering. Probably a symptom of the slimy bastard’s poison running through his veins. Jaune would have his work cut out for him.</p><p>As his prince voiced some nonsense admonitions in his ear, Qrow allowed the feeling of trust and safety to lull him into unconsciousness.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Hours later, in the privacy of their chambers, Clover fought against his own exhaustion in order to stay awake by Qrow’s side. </p><p>“He’s already stable, Your Highness,” Jaune, the medic of the castle, assured him. “His Aura is recovering quickly. You should get some rest yourself.” </p><p>Clover waved him away, eyes fixed on the rise and fall of Qrow’s bandaged ribs. “Thank you,” was the distracted reply, though he <em> was </em>thankful that his lover was quickly and effectively seen to. “Please assure Yang and Ruby that their uncle is alright.”</p><p>He heard Jaune sigh. “Only one of them is, though.”</p><p>At this, the prince of the castle turned to raise an eyebrow, and Jaune blushed, leaving after a murmured apology. </p><p>Still, the reminder that the two Huntresses cared about him both warmed and pierced Clover’s heart. The two had been visiting when the attacks began, and while they’d seen the prince in combat many times before, this was the first time they witnessed legendary rage of the Berserker Prince. </p><p>He fervently hoped that their approval did not diminish. </p><p>Both hands holding one of Qrow’s, he sighed. They’ve been together for many years and many feral rages, and Qrow had proven time and time again that he had the strength and versatility to deal with the Berserker Prince. Willingness, too, for Clover never held the Huntsman at his side by force.</p><p>With a quiet laugh, he admitted that he wouldn’t be able to even if he tried. </p><p>Clover pressed a kiss on Qrow’s knuckles, taking note of the amplified paleness, the dark circles, the slightly laboured breathing… What if Clover was becoming a greater threat —</p><p>Red eyes opened, lighting up at the sight of him. Though after swiftly reading Clover’s face, as he was wont to do, the gaze narrowed. </p><p>“I can hear you thinking.”</p><p>Clover lifted the corner of his mouth. “Well, I’m thinking about you.”</p><p>Ever so careless with injuries, Qrow sat himself up without even thinking to ask for Clover’s aid. </p><p>“I smell like horse shit,” he said, stretching his wings languidly, testing them with a few flaps. </p><p>“You have to let your bandages settle before you can bathe.”</p><p>His lover clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Groom my wings, then,” he ordered, scratching one of them but unable to reach the itch.</p><p>“Will you be able to sit up that long?” the prince asked hesitantly, though he was already getting the brush and the spray he liked to use. </p><p>Qrow shrugged. “You’re here. We can handle it.”</p><p>Clover knew Qrow enough to recognize the barely-hidden intent of distracting him from the dark thoughts left in the wake of his rage. Clover loved him enough to allow this. </p><p>Qrow turned around so that Clover was facing the entirety of his wings, allowing him to stroke with his hands, assessing. </p><p>Fully spread, the wings looked powerful and unharmed. Looking closer, there were black tufts tangled in some areas. There was a section of baldness on the lining of the right wing—signs of feathers ripped out. Lesser patches here and there. Much of Qrow’s back was caked in dried blood. No open injuries, fortunately. </p><p>Clover began with untangling and smoothing out the surface so that all the little tufts ran in a uniform direction. He couldn’t help his smile when Qrow shivered.</p><p>“Good?” he teased. Experience already told him how Qrow enjoyed this as much as he did. He scratched a bit at the vulnerable spot where skin met feathered cartilage.</p><p>Mock annoyance came in the form of the two wings pushing together backwards to smack Clover, causing a small explosion of feathers. “Not if you can’t fuck me afterwards,” Qrow replied with a touch of amusement. </p><p>Sobering at the reminder of the wound, Clover returned to mechanically grooming the wings. He picked up a clean rag, sprayed a tiny bit of water, and started swiping from the top of the left wing. He would move down until the entire side was done, then do the same to the opposite wing, after which he would go on to face Qrow and do the fronts. As always, he would endeavor to clean every single feather, pouring his love and care into every stroke. </p><p>“You’re moping,” Qrow commented after a while. “Stop. I’m way better at it than you are.”</p><p>Clover was tempted to brush it off and reassure his lover that he was fine. But it would be a grave insult to the other, so he spoke honestly. “You know that sometimes I fear I’m too much, that one day I’ll hurt you for real. Not that you aren’t the greatest Huntsman I’ve ever met, but what if one day a stroke of bad luck strikes us? Like today, but worse.”</p><p>“You’re no danger to me, princeling,” Qrow stated calmly, echoing his words from their first meeting, the first time Clover’s rage had been abated by this man who was then a child. </p><p>Clover allowed a drop of bitterness to tinge his chuckle. “I’m a danger to everyone.”</p><p>“Nope,” Qrow said decidedly. “The Berserker Prince is nothing but a childhood nickname to those who really matter. Everyone in your kingdom knows you to be kind and true, because you <em>are</em>. Your people love you because they recognize that you are loving, even as you distance yourself from them in fear of yourself.”</p><p>“With good reason.”</p><p>“Tsk. The rage doesn’t even visit more than once every few years. You’ve successfully gained control, enough for you to go into combat without risking it. Hell, your favoured weapon is a glorified rope—”</p><p>“Hey,” Clover complained with a chuckle, taking another piece of cloth once the first had become too soiled. </p><p>“It’s true, princeling. You only lost yourself today because—” A full body tremble made Qrow pause, and Clover felt an answering heat curl in the pit of his stomach. “—because Callows managed a cheap shot. Effective, though.”</p><p>A fire threatened to burn the back of Clover’s eyes, but he ordered it to stay down. “He’s dead. I made sure to kill him first.”</p><p>“Yup, so he is. Pity I couldn’t settle the score myself.” Qrow stretched his arms forward, cracking his knuckles. “Anyway, you’ve done your duty. You protected the castle from an invasion. Very princely and valiant. Very hot and sexy. Now return to your blindingly optimistic self, and leave the brooding and cynicism to me.”</p><p>Clover leaned his forehead on the space between Qrow’s shoulders. “What would I do without you?” he whispered. </p><p>“Raze the kingdom to the ground, I suppose,” was the matter-of-fact answer, and Clover let out a full laugh. </p><p>He needed this, needed Qrow’s dry humour and casual treatment of the rage inside the prince of Atlas. He wouldn’t be able to bear it if Qrow started walking on eggshells around him as everyone else inevitably did, just as Qrow wouldn’t be able to thrive without Clover’s easy reassurances and excessive flirting when he succumbed to his storm clouds. They both knew what the other needed, and both had learned to be good at giving it. </p><p>Clover went around the bed to settle in the space in front of his lover and resumed his grooming. He always left this side for last, because he enjoyed watching Qrow relax into the ministrations, humming every now and then, and rewarding him with the occasional lazy smile. </p><p>“I love you,” Clover declared after he finished and set the supplies on the floor. He would get to the oil and the polish later, but he yearned to feel Qrow <em> now.  </em></p><p>Qrow looped his arms around his neck, wrapping the newly-cleaned wings around them like a perfect blanket. “You wouldn’t get near my wings if you didn’t,” Qrow replied, bright red eyes locked on his. Fingers ran through his scalp, and it was Clover’s turn to tremble. “Want me to brush your hair?”</p><p>Reciprocation was part of their routine, though it had taken a while for Clover to warm up to the idea that he required taking care of at all. He thought that it was only right that he did everything, since he <em> could</em>.</p><p><em> You really don’t have to, I’ll just</em>—</p><p><em> I want to, princeling, I swear. Now get that big stubborn head over here and prepare to be wowed. </em> </p><p>“Later,” he replied, nose brushing against Qrow’s. He wanted to stay like this first, just inhaling and exhaling the same air as his partner. </p><p>Qrow kissed his forehead, then his cheek. Even after all this time, a part of Clover’s mind told him that this wasn’t right, that he should step up and do all the work, but an annoyed voice that sounded like Qrow’s told that part of him to shut the fuck up. </p><p>He felt safe here, in the cocoon of Qrow and his wings. A reminder that his lover could fly away if he wanted to, but chose to stay. </p><p>Sometimes, Qrow lifted his wings high above them, covering them in darkness, where they pretended it was just the two of them in the world. Today he chose to relax against the prince, tucking his head below Clover’s chin. </p><p>“M’sleepy.”    </p><p>Clover kissed the hair that perfectly matched the ebony of the wings around them. “Do you want to lie down again?”</p><p>When Qrow grunted, Clover settled against their headboard, fluffing the pillows on Qrow’s side of the bed. The other man ignored this, though, and plopped his head right down on Clover’s chest, a firm arm wrapping around his middle. To top it all off, one impossibly soft but strong wing settled over them, this time as an actual blanket.</p><p>Clover wouldn’t be able to leave if he tried, but why would he ever want to?</p><p>“Your rage is only a small part of you, just as my misery is just a fraction of me,” Qrow declared in a slurred voice, sounding half-asleep already. He snuggled further into Clover’s skin. “You need to rest, Clover, so go to sleep."</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"<em>Now</em>, princeling.”</p><p>A willing captive, the prince obeyed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Way before I reached the events of this fic, I wrote around 5k words of world-building and character backstory before I realized it would take forever for me to finish if I continued down that path, and I wanted to gift this to bastard-bird-dad as soon as possible. </p><p>If anyone's interested though, I might rearrange and work on this universe in bursts. Included in what was cut: Clover discovering he was a berserker + some childhood, King James Ironwood as his adopted father, the referenced first meeting between our boys, when Qrow started calling Clover princeling, a more complete idea of the "staff" aka the kids, ....... so yeah it would have taken AGES for the fluff with the wings, as my recipient requested.</p><p>Let me know if y'all want to see all that... (sweats nervously) ...it's not like I have an ongoing fair game series right now or anything....</p><p>Tumblr: <a href="https://robiness.tumblr.com/">robiness</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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